Lawn Boy

I've been cutting the lawn for a long time now. (You'd think I'd be finished!)

But what I mean is, when I was a kid, I was out there cutting away on my parents' yard, and as a homeowner I have been the guy out there with the "paramour" (as we say in Balamerese) once or twice a week, April through November, all the time.

Our first lawn, I took care of that like a doting daddy. I fertilized, planted trees and shrubs, weeded like a maniac, and devoted hour after hour for many years to having the lawn manicured and looking sharp.

Funny thing happened when we moved. I felt like my first love had left me, and in 11 years at the current Lazy 'C' Ranch here, I have never gotten into lawn care at all, feeling like this is an arranged marriage between two unwilling partners. And the yard shows it; there are weeds, dandelions, the occasional bare patch, and who cares?

Meanwhile, the guy who bought the old house from the people who bought it from us turns out to be a guy from my high school class - and someone else I know bought his old house, this being Baltimore and all. I drive by there from time to time and see my forsythia, my hollies, my red oaks towering majestically. I should have planted a willow so that someone would weep with me.

But this year, with my back problems and the possibility of either surgery or more giant needles, I have decided to turn over the grass-cutting chores to someone else. So we are hiring the guy who does our neighbor's yard. I guess he can just keep right on cutting and make one big job of it all.

Maybe someday I will get back into it, so for now I am not throwing away the collection of cut-off sweatpants, ratty t-shirts and grass-stained socks of which my lawn care wardrobe was comprised.

I don't think I will miss cutting the lawn. I'll let you know in November.